


it's in the blood

by riots



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Biting, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23135068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riots/pseuds/riots
Summary: It’s a loophole they’ve found. Blood is still a trap for Regis, still sends his head spinning, loosens his inhibitions, but if Geralt is around...well, he’s got something to focus on.a contract for a slyzard goes a little bit sideways. that's not exactly a bad thing.
Relationships: Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 25
Kudos: 231
Collections: Teratophilia Trade 2020





	it's in the blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fayharley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayharley/gifts).



> big thanks to j, m, and s, for your help!! i hope you enjoy, recip!!

“Fools,” Geralt says, and he gives his hands a shake, entrails of a slyzard matriarch sliding down his silver sword, landing in the dirt with a soft sound. He’s got the beginning of a headache behind his too-sharp eyes, a gift from too many potions at once. His ears ring.

Next to him, Regis stands over what’s left of the men. His chest heaves, there’s blood smeared across his lips and face, and his pupils are blown, pitch black. “Some men will do anything for coin,” Regis agrees, and Geralt’s stomach gives a hot lurch at the flash of sharp teeth as he speaks. “I daresay they got what they earned, however.”

Geralt hums in response, wiping the flat of his blade against his thigh before he puts it away. The job was supposed to be easy - dispatch a slyzard getting too close to the village. That had been before they’d discovered that she was twice the size of any matriarch he’d ever tackled, and that a group of enterprising bandits had been using her to terrorize people, herding her towards a target and picking the devastated towns clean, afterwards. These men now lay scattered around them, scattered in pieces, Regis’ work. “You okay?” he asks. After all, he’s still a recovering addict.

Deliberately, Regis licks over his bottom lip, his eyes meeting Geralt’s. “Perfect,” he says, and heat shoots straight to Geralt’s cock as Regis prowls over. He’s looking at Geralt like he could devour him, and Geralt’s pretty inclined to let him.

But even a Witcher has standards. As Regis collides with him, sharp claws pricking even through the thick material of Geralt’s leathers, Geralt steps back, steering them away from the enormous corpse of the slyzard. “C’mon,” he says, even as Regis mouths desperately at the hinge of his jaw. “Not here.”

He’s not expecting the snap of Regis’ wings spreading wide, his arms seizing tight around Geralt’s waist. “As you wish,” he says, and then Geralt’s in the air. There aren’t a lot of creatures who can manhandle Geralt like it’s nothing, and something about that just fuels the heat in Geralt’s gut, his breath coming short.

They land in a pile in a clearing nearby, far enough away that neither of them can smell the stench of the slyzard’s corpse. There’s nothing but cold dirt, trees, and the drying blood on Regis’ face. Regis grinds Geralt’s shoulders into the ground, the sharp points of his teeth grazing the hollow of his throat and making him shudder. He could fight this, if he wanted. He doesn’t. He sucks in a ragged breath as Regis pins him down with surprising strength, wiping blood across his throat, and his cock jumps in his trousers. 

It’s a loophole they’ve found. Blood is still a trap for Regis, still sends his head spinning, loosens his inhibitions, but if Geralt is around...well, he’s got something to focus on. The attention is heady and Geralt revels in it, dragging his hands up under Regis’ jacket and waistcoat to touch at his sides and back. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, unthinking, and Regis scrabbles at his trousers, yanking roughly at his belt. His wings are still spread wide above them, his coat in tatters. “Easy. I’ve got you.”

Regis yanks Geralt’s pants down in one sharp movement, dragging him bare-arse across the dirt before Geralt catches a root and stops himself. It’s no secret that Geralt likes the type that can match him, and there’s always been something about Regis’ deceptive power that gets him hot, his too-slow heartbeat picking up. Regis pauses, crouched over him, eyes two black pits under his furrowed brows. Like this, he looks nothing like the mild-mannered apothecary he plays at. “I know,” Regis says, voice rough, and he pulls Geralt’s hand to his mouth to press a kiss to his palm. 

He mouths at Geralt’s skin for a moment, lips sliding down to his wrist, and Geralt sucks in a breath in anticipation. “Do it,” he says, and his words are almost a growl. The bite of his sharp teeth tears into his skin, and Geralt gasps, back arching hard against the ground. It never fails to surprise him, the pure jolt of heat that shoots through him, his cock aching between his legs. Regis makes a low noise of pleasure as he sucks the blood messily into his mouth, and Geralt grunts, watching a bead of it roll down Regis’ face. 

“You taste sour,” Regis complains, and he bends over Geralt, pressing a sloppy kiss to Geralt’s panting mouth. He laps at the back of Geralt’s teeth, and Geralt can taste his own blood on Regis’ tongue, bitter with Witcher potions. He kisses back, one hand tight in Regis’ coat to drag him close, the other working at Regis’ belt. “It’s _wrong_.”

There’s nothing like it, when Regis loses his articulation and is reduced to nothing but straightforward want. Geralt smirks up at him. “Could’ve waited,” he points out, and Regis grinds against him, trapping Geralt’s cock between their bellies and making Geralt hiss. “Still can.”

“ _No_.” Regis bares his teeth in irritation, pulling back to shake off the shreds of his jacket. He’s still got too much clothing on for Geralt’s taste, though, so Geralt tugs at Regis’ belt, trying to get his trousers down over his slim hips. It’s hard going, as Regis captures his hand again, sucking noisily at the open wound of Geralt’s wrist. Each pull of his throat goes straight to Geralt’s cock, making him jerk and grunt beneath Regis’ body.

“C’mon,” Geralt gasps. He can feel Regis through his pants, as hard as he is. “You’re not making this easy.” 

Regis takes it as a challenge. He squirms out of his trousers, leaving them around his ankles, and then he crawls up to press his body against Geralt’s, grinding him into the dirt. Above them, Regis’ leathery wings flutter restlessly, snapping in the air. He still has Geralt’s wrist in his hand and he pins it above him and Geralt knows that stretch means he’ll ache in the morning, certainly. With his spare hand, Regis reaches into the inner pocket of his waistcoat, coming out with a small vial. He pulls the cork with his too-sharp teeth and Geralt shudders, the movement tapering into a groan as Regis swiftly slicks his fingers and slides them home inside him.

It’s not long before Regis has Geralt pushing back against the stretch of his fingers, pulling at the wrist that Regis has pinned. The sharp burn of the wound has faded, mutations meaning the bite is already closing up, blood slowing, but each time he shifts and Regis palm rubs against it, Geralt’s reminded of the heat of Regis’ eyes, and his cock jolts between them. He hasn’t even been touched yet, not really, but he aches and leaks, lifting his hips in a fruitless search for friction.

“Patience, dear Witcher,” Regis croons, and then the head of his cock is pressing into him, finally. Geralt winds his free hand in the front of Regis’ shirt as Regis fucks into him, thick and hot and inexorable. Like this, without his human guise and his eyes pitch black, his wings wide, he’s big enough to knock the breath out of Geralt’s chest, the tight slide just this side of too much. 

With a bit of Geralt’s blood in his belly, Regis has slowed, become less desperate. It’s maddening, and the hottest thing Geralt’s ever seen. He tries to hook a thigh around Regis’ hips, get him to pick up the pace, but he’s unmoveable like this. He looks down at Geralt, blood smeared across his face, lips parted and teeth sharp, and he grins. He closes his oil-slick fingers around Geralt’s cock, deliberate and slow, and Geralt hisses. It’s unfair and perfect and Geralt shivers, overwhelmed.

When he bottoms out, Geralt groans, unbearably full. He loves it. “Beautiful for me,” Regis murmurs, and he begins to fuck Geralt in earnest, slowly, deeply, thoroughly. Geralt’s gone slack beneath him, each surge of Regis’ hips and stroke of his hand making him near sob with the pleasure. 

Regis leans in close, mouthing at the curve of Geralt’s throat, the points of his teeth skating across Geralt’s skin and sending sparks through him. “Yeah,” Geralt says, his free hand closing fitfully in Regis’ thick hair. “ _Please_.”

This bite is less frantic, deliberate and so deep, and it only takes one hard swallow before Geralt is crying out, his whole body drawing taut as his cock shoots, dirtying Regis’ hand. Regis laughs against his skin, drinking from him in deep pulses that match each thrust of his hips, drawing out Geralt’s orgasm until he’s half-blind and shaking with it, lightheaded and just hanging on as Regis chases his completion.

He sighs as Regis comes, pressing in deep as he spends hot inside him. Regis is still drinking, and as Geralt sags against the dirt, his head spinning and his body aching, he shakes him off. Regis lets him, finally, pressing his long tongue against the deep wound of his throat and then wiping his bloody face against his skin. 

Sweat drying against his skin, Geralt feels well-used and sore already, his hips and shoulders aching with the print of what Regis has done. “Back with me?” he asks hoarsely. He thinks regretfully for a moment of the ride back. It’s going to be an ordeal.

Above them, Regis’ wings flutter and then stretch out around them, belatedly shielding them from the night. “Mmm,” Regis says against Geralt’s skin. He bites him again, just a nip, and when he shifts against Geralt, he realizes Regis is still hard. Even Witcher stamina is hard-pressed to keep up with a vampire. 

Geralt curls a hand around Regis’ jaw, steering him up to kiss him, the two of them filthy with his blood. “One more,” he concedes. Sun’s coming up soon. Regis pushes against him, and Geralt grunts with oversensitivity, hyperaware of how wet he is around Regis’ cock. Regis laughs again, low and dirty, and he kisses Geralt again.


End file.
